A dream held dearly
by cattaclysm
Summary: Henrietta was a scattered piece of paper, crumpled up in a 5th grade class, no one noticing it, daring to straighten the crumpled texture, no one knowing it held the meaning of the world. Henrietta was clarity, she was art.


_Henri just hit the wall._

That is an understatement. Henrietta Biggle was just thrown against the largest, hardest hypothetical wall in existence, and she broke through it, so now all she has is a hole in the wall and a banged up arm. And there's dirt everywhere so it's probably infected, too.

Suffice to say, _Henri just hit the fucking wall_.

She sat on the floor of her bedroom and did everything in her power to chain smoke her lungs into oblivion. She scowled in frustration and threw the butt of her cigarette on the carpet before maneuvering her leg to stomp it out. Stupid parents and stupid school and stupid feelings and stupid fucking Henrietta.

She sighed and her thoughts wander back. Her mum was being a bitch about her grades again.

"I know you can do better than that," she would say, "I'm very disappointed in you, young lady," stupid conformist bitch.

Henrietta ran her hands through her tangled black hair, her chubby little fingers brushing out the knots as best as they could.

She had an A in English, psychology, philosophy, everything that was important. But her mother couldn't wrap her head around it, around the fact that her daughter wasn't good at maths or sports, around the fact her daughter _was totally inexplicable. _She was an unsolved force of nature, she existed in this world yet it was as if she was from another planet.

She held the world to the highest standard she could find and she was disappointed each time but she kept at it because it wasn't that high of a standard, it's just that the world sucked balls. She was an unexpected spectator to the world and the way it evolved. Seemingly lost in time and space, she observed. Her large, black figure was always spotted somewhere, on a park bench, under a tree, gazing down from her balcony, sitting behind the school, not speaking, observing. Taking in all the information she could for god knows what reason.

Her mother, however, decided to criticize this, saying things like 'you need to open up more, honey,' and, 'be more like your brother.'

That one pissed her off the most. A lifetime of being compared to her perfect baby brother who did good in school and always did his chores and never complained and who was fucking sociable.

She wasn't. She wasn't sociable because she wasn't socially acceptable. She didn't fit in anywhere, she was a fucking freak and the world around her loved to point it out one way or another. So she kept to herself and what little friends she had.

She eyed the bottle of wine sat on the coffee table by her bed, considering.

_'Whatever,'_ she thought and popped it open before taking a swig, _'a bit couldn't hurt.'_

It didn't. It felt pretty fucking good, it felt like with every sip her frustrations faded, replaced by a tired, cozy feeling, lulling her into a more relaxed state of mind until sleep tugged at her consciousness, and her dark brown orbs disappeared behind the lids.

_'Just gonna rest my eyes a bit,'_ she assured, allowing dreams to take her.

She was a lucid dreamer, quick to take off on a journey of great proportions, she was off.

She eyed her surroundings, a forest on some distant planet, the plants were odd looking. She looked at her hands, triggering the lucidity and walked along the forest, picking a few flowers and smiling faintly. She had a small shack for things she picked up in dreams. It was a broad collection from a pirate hat to a snowglobe to an actual snowflake from the North Pole or the like. She held these dear and flew off towards the cottage.

The flowers joined the rest of the loot and she flew away, looking for adventure. She addressed the NPC-like people she came by and landed in a large field. She was feeling rather nature-ish that day, probably. Might have been the booze. She laid down on the grass and stared at the sky.

The sun was bright, not harsh, its rays didn't harm her black-clad self, she was pleased. In this world the sun was a nice thing, it brought joy to her, never gave her a headache or sunburn. In this world her pale skin could withstand anything and in this world she wasn't a freak, simply an explorer on this vast universe.

Maybe that's what she was, that's what no one could see, that she longed to view everything, to feel everything, but she was horribly limited. Not a limited person, though, but limited by being a person. This human body couldn't endure the things she wanted it to, it couldn't achieve flight and pain was a horrible feeling. Not when she was asleep though.

When she slept, her skin was even paler, almost glowing, it exhibited strength no one else could see, it contrasted with her clothes completely and she felt pleased in her dreams. In her dreams, she didn't need to smoke, relief and coping was achieved easily, simply by flying away. She wished she could do that in real life. Or maybe sleep forever. Maybe life was one big lucid dream. She shook the thought away and continued her journey.

She came across a large mirror and eyed herself. She never had an opinion on her appearance but at that point the squishy fat slightly rolling from her belly against her hips, covered by her long, black dress was the most beautiful thing she'd ever seen.

In her dreams other people agreed, in her dreams being fat wasn't a bad thing. In real life, she didn't care about anyone's opinion but in her dreams she didn't have to.

And at that point her chubby fingers seemed so soft and gentle, she brushed the cheek of her image in the mirror, which didn't move with her movement, she didn't want it to. She wanted to touch its cheek, not its hand. She felt the skin and realized _oh_, it was a person. _She_ was a person. She dubbed her Henri #2. It seemed almost dehumanizing but her imagination faltered as she stroked her cheek gently, bringing a smile to her face.

She was sure in real life this would be fucked up. She didn't care.

Henrietta Biggle ran her hands through the hair of the other girl, her mirror image in every single way, in an almost romantic fashion. And then down her neck until her hands set on her shoulders. She squeezed gently, the fat was so soft. Her hands slid down the arms and then moved to gently brush her hair away from her neck and collar. She ran her hands down to her breasts, groped gently, appreciating the softness, warmth, before feeling for her heartbeat. It was erratic and she hadn't even looked at the girl's face. She was biting her lip, trying to sustain all sound, but a smile was set on her face as she attempted to remain still. She had to, this was Henrietta's dream.

She rested her hands on her belly, squeezed the fat there, not mockingly, not roughly, the gentlest touch she could achieve, it felt so light, even through the material of her dress. She knelt down, reaching around to slide her chubby hands down the other's back, onto her butt, and kept them there for a moment before moving down to her thighs, watching the girl squirm in her place for a moment before lowering them to her calves and then her ankles, her shoes, and then back up to her crotch, lingering for a moment before she got up. Henrietta gave a long look to the girl, appreciated how perfectly sculpted her body was, how her dress hugged her body, before she faded away.

The real world returned slowly as her eyes fluttered open. The headache was nonexistent and she sat up slowly, eying her surroundings.

Henrietta was a lost soul on this planet, something amazing and inexplicable in this universe and a sense of clarity admist a world of confusion.

She held the world in the palm of her hand and she allowed it to grow and change, she held it like a black rose in a field of white ones, a contrast as fair as her skin, covered by her black dress, a metaphor or maybe something much stronger.

She more than hit the wall, she rammed through it, the scattered bits of brick morphing into soothing, black butterflies, flying around her fallen form, urging her up.

Henrietta was a scattered piece of paper, crumpled up in a 5th grade class, no one noticing it, daring to straighten the crumpled texture, no one knowing it held the meaning of the world. Henrietta was clarity, she was art.


End file.
